Friday, October 3, 2014

Hope

Humanity is scattered throughout the solar system and losing hope. She exists to bring hope, no matter the cost.

___________________________________

You may as well call me Hope. It’s my job. See, hope keeps people engaged. Hope makes them work.
Hope makes them fight. Without hope humanity descends into chaos. So my job is
to make sure they don’t lose hope. Don’t be jealous. My job isn’t as glamorous
as it sounds. If I’m going to preserve hope I have to go to all the places
where hope is in danger of dying out. I have to go to the very margins and rein
in those things that are actively killing the hope of humanity.

I wish I
could tell you more about who I am or that I even knew who you were. I’m mostly
keeping this log — or diary or journal — for my own sake. My work is too secret
for people to know about it. In a cruel twist of irony my work to preserve
hope, if people knew about it, would take their hope away again. So I’m
speaking into the void and — you’ll get a laugh from this — hoping. What am I
hoping for? I’m hoping my job can be done soon. I’m hoping to have a life of my
own. I’m hoping to have a name again. I’m hoping to be free of this terrible
onus of providing hope for others while denying it for myself.

I watch the
automatic systems of my shuttle rotate around its internal gyroscope to line up
with the docking system of the asteroid belt colony. They’ve built a circular station
that surrounds and stabilizes an asteroid for mining. Once they’ve fully mined
that rock, they can move the station to another one and repeat the process. I
look at the kilometer wide diameter of the ring as my shuttle’s computer
negotiates with that of the station. Most of the lights are off. It’s their
night cycle. Solar Standard Time it’s Oh-eight-forty, but each habitat and
station chooses their own diurnal rhythm. The waning moon icon on my
chronometer indicates they have about three hours left in their night cycle.
Odd that we still use Earth-based iconography when none of us have lived there.
But I’m starting to ramble.

I suppose I’m
keeping this log because I don’t want anyone to forget. Hope comes at a cost.
It’s too valuable a thing to not have a cost. If it didn’t hurt we wouldn’t
need it so much. I was born and raised to pay the cost of hope for humanity.
You’re welcome.

The docking
procedure goes as they always do. My credentials override every security
protocol and allow me silent docking. No guards are alerted and all the
surveillance systems in the airlock and adjoining corridors are automatically
disabled. The hiss of air and the vibration of metal on metal — more felt than
heard — bring all my senses to the ready. I go over the plan for the hundredth
time. The remaining three hours should be sufficient to get me in and out
undetected. Hope must leave no trace of her machinations.